Expect The Unexpected
by Supernaturelle
Summary: Previously started under name Fools Rush In. Arguments tend to make people do stupid things. And mistakes tend to have consequences. My first multichapter fanfic reviews appreciated! Rated T for occasional language.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Ok, my attention has recently been drawn to the fact that I'm a very very bad person. I started this fic forever ago, but then I kind of gave up on it a bit... Massive case of writers' block and just kind of lack of inspiration I guess. I have now been encouraged to start up with it again. I had a prologue-y bit before, but I realized it was restricting me too much with what I might want to do so I've taken that out and I've made a couple of other alterations too. And, yes, it was that long ago that the fic is set in Season 1 (although that's only really clear from the lack of angst over John, I guess), at some point after Home.

I wanted to say thanks very much (and, I guess, sorry - hangs head in shame) to the people who took the time to review before. And especially to Lucy, my partner in Supernatural obsession and fast becoming my muse, and to SadeLyrate, whose review a couple of days ago really spurred me on to get on with this! (If someone could let me know what Mpreg means, that would be wonderful...) It's still my first proper fanfic, so, seriously, any feedback – especially constructive criticism – is really welcome.

Sorry – this was really wordy and boring, promise I won't say so much in the future! For now, here's just the first chapter – hope you enjoy it, I will try to update as regularly as possible.

**Disclaimer**: I'm just as disappointed as everyone else that I don't own those beautiful boys or their car...

**Expect The Unexpected**

"Dean, I'm serious, don't you dare even think it." Dean chuckled softly to himself as he climbed into the driver's seat of his beloved black Chevy Impala. His younger brother had always disapproved of his flirting and womanizing, especially when they were working on a case. He wasn't really serious about trying anything on with Julia, the young woman they were here to help, but he knew Sam was getting riled up – and there was nothing Dean loved more than antagonizing his little brother. _Well, almost nothing_... He grinned to himself as he replied.

"Come on, man, when you've got it, you've got it – no point wasting it!"

Right on cue, Sam slammed shut the passenger door and fixed Dean with his patented disapproving glare. "Hey, dude," Dean protested, "more care with the car!"

"Dean, we're here to kill that spirit. That girl is vulnerable right now – you can't take advantage of her. Not to mention the fact that she doesn't even know your real name..."

The older sibling had heard this all many times – too many times – before, and was already getting bored. Slamming the car into gear and screeching out of the driveway, he interrupted the tirade. "God, Sam, don't you ever get tired of the self-righteous bit? Look, I wouldn't go there with Julia, and, you know what, don't insult me by thinking I'm not just as focused on killing this thing as you are. I'm not being serious, OK? Get over yourself already."

"You're not being serious. Of course you're not being serious..." muttered Sam to himself.

"Huh? Something else you wanna say?" asked Dean, glancing over at his brother before turning his attention back to the road. Not that he actually thought there was much need for watching the road - _not gonna meet much traffic out in Nowheresville, USA_.

"It was nothing, don't worry about it," said Sam quietly before settling into silence for the rest of the drive. His brother wasn't the most careful of drivers at the best of times, and he didn't really want tempers to start flaring while they were on the road. The argument could wait for later.

Dean pushed open the door to their $30-a-night room in the Sleepeazy Motel. As usual, it took him a second to give the room a quick once-over to check for anything lurking in the shadows. When he was sure it was safe, he walked in, tossed his car keys on the table next to his chosen bed and unzipped his holdall to take out a towel.

"Sammy, I'm taking a shower," he called out, walking towards the bathroom door.

He was stopped short by the tone of Sam's voice as he threw his own holdall on the other bed: "Dean, we're gonna sit down first and figure out what we're dealing with here."

_Great, here we go again_ thought Dean snidely. _College boy with the work ethic and the research_.

"Look, man," he snapped back, "I've been driving all day and it's, like midnight. I'm tired and I'm gonna take a shower. Besides, that spirit is clearly your standard poltergeist-with-a-grudge – a couple bags of that angelica root mixture that Missouri gave us in the walls will deal with it. Julia's at her sister's and safe tonight – we can deal tomorrow." He could see Sam's expression getting more and more furious. _Noted, and ignored_. He wasn't going to get into this now – all Dean wanted at that moment was a shower and sleep, and that was what he was going to get.

"Hey, man, you know I'm right", he threw back over his shoulder as he headed back to the bathroom. He slammed the door behind him and turned the shower further and further up in defiance as Sam started yelling through the door at him: "You know what? Fine! But you ARE gonna take this seriously in the morning, and we're not going back into that house without knowing exactly what we're up against first. Dean, are you listening to me? Dammit, Dean!" Dean breathed a sigh of relief as one last frustrated thump on the door punctuated the end of Sam's little outburst.

Dean's whole body tensed up as he stepped under the shower – as usual, the motel's water heaters weren't working and the cascade raining down on him was freezing cold. "Jesus", he hissed under his breath before clamping his chattering teeth together. _Come on, I should be used to this by now_ he thought, forcing his body to relax as he felt the dust of another few hundred miles of highway washing off him and down the drain.

Dean emerged from the shower half an hour later, wrapped a towel around his waist and walked back out into the bedroom. He steeled himself to ignore some more demands from Sam that he do some research before going to sleep, but his pre-emptive sarcastic reply died on his lips as he saw that his younger brother had already crashed out, his soft snores a sign of how quickly he'd fallen into an exhausted sleep. The relief at avoiding another argument was accompanied by the re-surfacing of Dean's protective-older-brother instincts. Dean was always glad to see his little brother getting a moment of peace – they were pretty few and far between with this gig.

Dean almost jumped out of his skin as a sudden noise broke the utter silence in the room. _What the hell?_ he wondered, spinning round to pinpoint the source of the disturbance. _Idiot!_ he reprimanded himself silently as he realized the insistent buzzing was the sound of his cellphone vibrating in the pocket of his jacket, discarded along with his other clothes in a heap on the bathroom floor.

He grabbed the phone out of the pocket quickly, wanting to stop it ringing before the noise woke his brother. The number wasn't recognized by his phone, but as soon as he'd closed the door and connected to the caller, he knew what the call was about – and it definitely wasn't good.

He instantly recognized the fear in Julia's voice – it was all too familiar to him. He adopted his most reassuring tone: "Hey, hey, calm down Julia. You're talking too quickly – slow down and tell me what's up."

"Dean... I – I did something really stupid. I forgot something when I went over to my sister's earlier, and... and... "

Dean's heart began to sink as he realized what was coming next – why couldn't people just realize when they should just stay well away from something and leave someone who knew what they were doing to deal with it?

"Julia, did you go back to your house? Alone?" he asked.

"Y – yes," she stammered. "Dean, more weird stuff is happening – I'm scared. Please – would you help me?"

Dean immedately felt remorse for the frustration that he knew had been obvious in his voice the last time he spoke. Naive or not, Julia could be in deep trouble. He switched straight into the calm, coping-with-a-crisis, ready-for-anything mode that he'd managed to hone over years of hunting.

"OK, Julia, don't worry. I'll be right there. Our motel's only a couple minutes' drive away." He heard a scream on the other end of the line and a noise that sounded horribly like a phone being dropped on the floor. "Julia? Julia? Dammit!" he cursed as the call was cut off from the other end.

Dean ran out of the bathroom, hastily pulled on some clothes, grabbed his car keys from his bed and instinctively went to wake his brother. Just before he yelled his brother's name, though, something that Dean couldn't explain stopped him in his tracks. Sam was still fast asleep, sprawled over his bed, and instead of waking him, Dean grabbed a piece of paper, scrawled a note explaining where he'd gone and stepped quietly out of the door alone.

As Dean headed quickly out across the parking lot towards his car, he felt a twinge of shame at not having woken his brother. He could tell himself that he had just wanted to let Sam take advantage of the possibility of a night's peace, and that was definitely a part of it. He knew, though, that his own stubbornness and the memory of their earlier argument had kept him from doing what he knew probably would have been the sensible thing. Dean tried to hold back these thoughts, knowing that time was of the serious essence and there was no point wasting precious moments turning back or regretting what he'd done._ The mood he's in, he'll probably STILL want to do research before going back there anyway," _he thought bitterly as he pulled open the car door. Dean was out to prove a point now – he'd hunted on his own before, he knew what he was doing, he could deal with one poltergeist on his own, for crying out loud.

By the time he'd burnt rubber out of the parking lot, Dean had almost managed to convince himself that he'd done the right thing.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Ok, here's the second chapter. Am getting through the third – should be up in a couple of days. Thanks so much to you guys who reviewed! Hope you continue to enjoy.

**Disclaimer:** Still no ownership here. Not even close.

**Chapter 2**

Dean had pushed any guilt and regret to the back of his mind and was back in full-on hunter mode as he thumped on the front door of Julia's house five minutes later. He yelled the young woman's name as he remembered the terror he'd heard in her voice over the phone. When there was no answer from inside the house, Dean took a step backwards, tensed up to prepare himself, and burst through the front door with one ferocious kick.

He winced at the jarring shock that shot through his whole body at the impact, but quickly pushed the pain to the back of his mind and re-focused on the most important thing – getting Julia out of that house.

He started creeping slowly down the eerily silent hallway, his eyes constantly darting from side to side, on full alert, ready for anything.

As far as he could tell, the spirit seemed to have let up for a minute – he saw no evidence of any poltergeist activity, and the first sound he heard was a stifled sob coming from the kitchen. He pushed open the door slowly and his heart went out to the clearly traumatized young woman cowering in the corner of the room. She was huddled against a cabinet, hugging her knees, rocking gently back and forth, her blonde hair hanging down and covering her face. She flinched and looked up as she heard the gentle creak of the opening door. Tears had marked streaks down her face and she looked petrified. It was a look Dean knew far too well but that still made him feel the same burning rage every time he saw it.

Julia's eyes lit up, her terror lessened by the hope of escape that she saw in the confident, strong young man standing in the doorway, his figure framed by the shadows from the hallway beyond. One of the only people who'd been willing to really listen to her without that patronizing look that she'd seen from so many people since she had started worrying about what was going on in her house. Sure, he was sarcastic and way too self-confident, but he and his brother had been more reassuring and made her feel safer than anyone she knew.

Dean moved quickly across the room, still not letting his guard down for a second despite his concern for Julia, and crouched down in front of her. He placed his hands gently on her shoulders, looked directly into her eyes, spoke softly and calmly: "Hey, it's OK. Don't worry, we're gonna get you out of here." He could see that she wasn't coping – she was breathing in shaky gasps, and the last thing he needed was for her to start hyperventilating or have a panic attack.

"Hey, hey, come on, look at me. It's OK – I'm getting you outta here. Come on, Julia, you with me?" The calmness and softness in his voice seemed to have the desired effect – he saw the determination set into her eyes as she steeled herself to cover the distance to the front door.

"OK," she replied as steadily as she could. Dean admired her attempt to keep control, but was still aware of the telling waver in her voice.

"OK then, come on, let's go." He kept a reassuring hand on her shoulder and maintained steady eye contact as they slowly got to their feet. "Just stay with me now," Dean said softly as he started to guide her back towards the hallway. He could feel her trembling under his touch, and the anger that he'd so far suppressed as much as possible started rising to the surface. It was the same resentment he felt every time he saw a spirit make a victim out of another unsuspecting, innocent person. In that moment he knew it – any lingering doubts he may have had about this hunt, especially about finishing it alone, were out the window. He was going to kill this son-of-a-bitch for what it had done to this woman, and he was going to do it that night.

He set out towards the front door, a renewed determination in his movements, gently encouraging Julia with soft reassurances all the way.

There was still no sign of activity from the poltergeist as they stepped over the now-demolished front door and outside. Dean led Julia quickly down the steps, fixed her with his most determined, what-I-say-goes-and-there-will-be-NO-argument stare, learned from his father, and instructed her: "Right, I'm going back in there to end this thing. You run straight next door and you _stay_ there until I come get you. You hear me?" Dean allowed himself a moment of smug satisfaction as Julia nodded and ran off across the drive. No-one had ever dared to stand up to that look and that tone of voice. No-one but his little brother, and even then, it had taken Sam years to finally build up the courage to face off against their father and argue for his right to his own life. A small smile tugged at the corners of Dean's mouth at the memory of that day. Even though it had broken his heart to see Sammy walk away from them, from their mission, he'd never been more proud of his brother than at that moment.

_Snap out of it_, he berated himself, interrupting his thought pattern before it wandered off on some ramble through the memories of some of the most emotional, painful moments of his life.

He popped the Impala's trunk, grabbed an axe and started heading back towards the house. With a quick check of his pockets to make sure he had the packets of angelica root he needed, he stepped over the threshold.

xxxxxxxxxxXXXXXXXXXXxxxxxxxxxx

Sam forced his eyes open and reached over clumsily to grab his watch off the table and stop the insistent beeping of the alarm. He suddenly wasn't sure if he was happy he'd decided to set it. Considering the ease with which he'd fallen asleep, he was pretty sure he could do with more than the 45 minutes of rest he'd allowed himself before getting down to some research. He was awake now, though, and so resigned himself wearily to staying that way. He knew his older brother still refused to understand the logic that working at this time would let him sleep all day so he could be refreshed to face the spirit the following night.

He pushed himself up to a sitting position using his elbows and swung his legs down to the floor. Just as he was about to stand up, two things happened to alert Sam that something wasn't right.

First, he realized that Dean wasn't there. He definitely wasn't in the room - there had been no muffled protests from a face buried in the pillows of the other bed at the beeping of the alarm. There was no sound coming from the bathroom either. No running water, no out-of-tune attempts at singing some obscure Metallica single... He wanted to assume that Dean had just gone for a walk to cool off or buy some junk food, but Sam was a worrier, and years of living as their family did had left him with an amazing capacity to jump straight to the worst possible conclusion. Especially when a family member was unexpectedly absent in the middle of the night.

Second, there was the pain. That blinding, head-in-a-vice type migraine, pounding against his skull, the short-notice warning that something _really_ not good was about to happen and he was getting a front-row seat. Recognizing the sensation, Sam attempted to get to his feet – the wave of nausea that accompanied the visions was never fun, and he wanted to at least be near the bathroom, just in case. But the pain intensified even more as he tried to move, and his knees buckled under him. He sank to the floor, clasping his head tightly in his hands as he began to lose focus and everything blurred around him.

"Ah... Dean," he groaned, desperately hoping that he'd been wrong and his brother might still be there. But for once, there was no concerned voice, no older brother rushing immediately to his side to reassure him, to break his fall, to talk him through the pain. _Damnit, where is he?_ "Dean?" he called out one last time, then everything faded to black for the briefest moment before the vision appeared.

Sam could never have prepared himself for this. The horrifying scene that he saw made his blood run cold. Usually it was the details that he tried to focus on, that would lead him and Dean to the person they wanted to help and the thing they wanted to kill. But this time all he could take in was the sickening sight of a room engulfed in flames, a shadowy figure pinned to the ceiling, blood dripping to the floor. Sam could barely cope with the sickeningly familiar horror he felt. And then he registered the scream of anguish, unmistakeably his brother's.

Dean was slumped against a wall of the smoke- and flame-filled room, his face a mask of terror, pain and rage as he stared at the ceiling and cried out. It was an almost inhuman sound, filled with frustration and utter devastation.

Suddenly, the horrifying vision disappeared and Sam once again saw nothing but the murky hotel room. His stomach was churning and it still felt like someone was crushing his head in a vice. For a few moments, he couldn't force himself to move. He would have felt relief that the vision was over and he had the chance to prevent it from coming true, but the look on his brother's face seemed seared into his brain. The worlds of pain and helplessness in that look had terrified him.

It was that image that spurred him into action – that, and the memory of Dean's scream in his mind. He needed to find his brother and they needed to figure out how to stop this, fast. He needed to stop the echoing threat of those two words that had torn from his brother's throat as he'd stared at the figure on the ceiling:

"_Noooooooo!!! Sammy!_"

xxxxxxxxxxXXXXXXXXXXxxxxxxxxxx

Oh yeah, btw, forgot to mention... I'm way too fond of using cliffhangers as a dramatic device! Yes, I'm one of those evil people...


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Ok, here's the next chapter! Hope you enjoy – let me know what you think!

**Disclaimer:** Nope. Still not mine.

**Chapter 3**

Sam pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, using the bed for support as he swayed for a second before finding his balance. His first impulse was to check the bathroom just in case Dean was still there after all. But he dismissed the idea straight away – no matter how mad they might be at each other, Sam knew there was no way in hell his brother wouldn't have been at his side in a second if he'd been close enough to hear him cry out. Ever since they'd started working together again, Sam couldn't even remember waking from a nightmare without a show of concern from Dean, let alone being left alone to cope with the aftermath of a vision.

What had the damn vision meant, anyway? They'd always thought the point of his psychic powers was to help other people, so why had he seen himself dying? Even trying to think about it made Sam's already reeling brain hurt even more.

He was starting to really worry. He really needed to see his brother, to hear his cocky reassurances that everything was going to be fine. He knew Dean well enough to know that in a situation like this those reassurances would be meaningless, an automatic response to hide his own fears. A feeble attempt to protect Sam from the difficult truth that, just sometimes, neither of them had a clue how to deal with their freakish lives. But somehow, hearing Dean say those things and knowing he wouldn't have to figure it out on his own could help.

He was reaching for his cellphone when he finally noticed the scrawled note lying on the small table by the door.

_Dude – Julia called. Something's up. Nothing big. I'll deal, you sleep._

Sam read the note, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips as he deciphered Dean's chicken-scratch handwriting. _Jesus, Dean. Great time to go gung ho on me. What an _idiot_. In what universe would the dumbass think I'd read this and not go after him?_

Not wasting any time, Sam grabbed his jacket and cellphone and headed for the door. Stepping outside, he swallowed the nausea rising in his throat as the frantic scream from his vision continued to echo round his mind. _Come on, suck it up, it'll be fine. Just jump in the..._

"Shit." Sam released the one quiet word into the night air as he realized the ridiculously obvious – Dean had taken the damn car with him. _He's so friggin' lucky I'm not in the mood for yelling at him right now_.

Sam reluctantly headed off at a slow jog – all he could manage considering how shaky he still felt. Judging from the car ride, he figured it should only take him a few minutes to get back to Julia's house. He set his jaw in determination and focused all his efforts on getting there as fast as he could, trying to ignore the horrible feeling of foreboding settling in the pit of his stomach.

xxxxxxxxxxXXXXXXXXXXxxxxxxxxxx

Dean made his way cautiously into the last bedroom – the south corner of the top floor all that was left to complete the ritual. He was pretty relieved it was almost over. The inevitable – distractingly flickering lights, random bits of furniture flying around – had started after the first couple of rooms downstairs.

Despite some displays of quick reflexes and athleticism – _pretty damn impressive if you ask me_, he thought to himself smugly – Dean was starting to feel worse for wear. Inevitably, he'd taken a few hits – his legs were bruised from hitting the deck a bit harder than he'd have liked a couple times, and he had plenty of cuts and scratches up his arms and across his chest. Nothing that seemed too serious. The major casualty was his jacket, pretty much a write-off at this stage. Even the small cut above his eye wasn't concerning him – it was more annoying than anything, the thin trail of blood just causing an irritating tickle as it made its way slowly down his cheek.

Pissed off as he was, Dean was counting his blessings. If the poltergeist had been more powerful or accurate, he knew he could be in much worse shape right now. He quickly made his way to the far corner of the room, still alert, not letting himself get complacent until this thing was over. _Just keep out the way of heavy flying objects for a bit longer and it'll be fine..._

He quickly smashed a hole in the wall exactly the right size for the last bag of the angelica root mixture. The random thought that he'd had way too much practice at doing this flashed through his mind as he shoved the package into the wall cavity.

Dean brought his arm straight up to his face, instantly ready to shield his eyes from the flash of brilliant white light that he knew was coming. He heard the high-pitched protesting shriek of the spirit and more furniture smashing against walls as the purification began to take effect.

He always hated the feeling of those few seconds where he lost control over the situation. Being deprived of his sight meant that he couldn't defend himself and that helplessness always frustrated the hell out of him. The force of a random flying object colliding with him, deadening his right arm on impact, making him drop the axe, served as a sharp reminder and made him feel even more tense and angry. "God _damn _it!" he yelled at the house in general.

As if in response to his rage, everything ended just as suddenly as it had begun. Silence once again permeated the house, and Dean tentatively lowered his arm to ensure it really was over. He cursed to himself, realizing that the lights had all gone out and he couldn't see any more than he had been able to with his eyes covered. But as he reached into his jacket and his hand closed around a pocket torch, a triumphant smile played across his face. There was really only one thought running through his mind at that moment, filled with confidence and a Sam-can-go-stuff-his-research sense of victory: _Gotcha, you son of a bitch._

But suddenly, his moment of smug satisfaction was interrupted by the creeping sensation that something still wasn't quite right. Scratch that, something was still very wrong.

xxxxxxxxxxXXXXXXXXXXxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: **Mwahahaha – yes, I am the evil cliffhanger fairy... Questions? Comments? Let me know!


	4. Chapter 4

Wow guys, thanks so much for the kind reviews – they make me smile every time I read them! I know it's been way too long a gap between updates, but I've had a manic term at uni (Cambridge is a pretty pressurized environment...)

Still, hope you can forgive and stick with me, and that this chapter keeps you interested!

Just a quick note to ghostbehindyou – promise I'll give the boys a bit of a rest soon lol

Disclaimer info still just as true (and depressing) as it has been in the previous chapters.

**Chapter 4**

_Silence once again permeated the house, and Dean tentatively lowered his arm to ensure it really was over. He cursed to himself, realizing that the lights had all gone out and he couldn't see any more than he had been able to with his eyes covered. But as he reached into his jacket and his hand closed around a pocket torch, a triumphant smile played across his face. There was really only one thought running through his mind at that moment, filled with confidence and a Sam-can-go-stuff-his-research sense of victory: Gotcha, you son of a bitch. _

_But suddenly, his moment of smug satisfaction was interrupted by the creeping sensation that something still wasn't quite right. Scratch that, something was still very wrong._

There was no physical change in the atmosphere of the room, there were no creepy unexplained sounds, no satisfying explanation that Dean could comfort himself with. But something was definitely still wrong - because Dean was afraid. It wasn't the hairs-raising-on-back-of-neck, oh-crap-it's-behind-me-isn't-it, alert kind of fear that Dean was used to experiencing with just a bit too much regularity on hunts. Not the nervous anticipation that came before a confrontation with the latest spirit, the little nagging voice that always reminded him _this could be the one that gets one of us_. Not that feeling he had in the moment before meeting his father's eyes after he'd messed up.

It wasn't any of those, because those were familiar feelings, ones that Dean could deal with, could usually control and hide pretty effectively. But this – this was panic. This was short, gasping breaths, feeling like a crushing weight had just settled on his chest, can't think straight, loss of control, terror. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that, in the literal sense, this wasn't rational. There was no reason, no explanation for this feeling. All he could come up with was _am I having a freakin' panic attack?_ That thought, of course, only making him panic more. Because Dean Winchester didn't do that, it was just too dangerous. For him, and for everyone around him. _Also, kinda wussy, so snap the fuck out of it!_

Trying desperately to control himself, take deep breaths, stop his hands shaking, Dean reached down towards the floor to try and retrieve the axe he'd dropped earlier. He didn't know if it would actually help, considering there was nothing to fight against, but he hoped that at least being armed might help him to feel less vulnerable.

As he finally located the weapon and started to slowly stand back up as steadily as he could manage, he was confronted with a pair of glowing, blood-red eyes. And Dean froze. Completely. In the thrall of those eyes, half-concealed in the recesses of the hood of a dark cloak, the focus of his terror. His hunter's instincts screamed at him to move, to _do something, dammit_. But, for once in his life, he found his panic-stricken mind unable to force his body to obey. Paralyzed with fear, the axe slipping from his trembling fingers and dropping uselessly back to the floor, he watched as the cloaked figure slowly began to advance towards him.

xxxxxxxxxxXXXXXXXXXXXxxxxxxxxxx

As he finally rounded the corner to Julia's house, Sam felt a surge of relief on seeing the Impala parked on the driveway. Well, parked maybe not so much the right word. Judging from the tracks in the gravel, it looked like Dean had skidded the car to a violent and sudden stop. The urgency behind his brother's earlier actions was confirmed for Sam when he saw the demolished front door. Dean would have picked the lock if he hadn't felt the need for serious haste.

Sam jogged over to the car and placed his hand on the roof to steady himself as he took a moment to catch his breath. He ran his eyes over the front of the house, noticing immediately the eerie silence and the lack of illumination from behind the windows. A knot of concern mixed with disbelief settled in his stomach as he tried to figure out yet again what was going on, and what could have possessed Dean to come back here alone. _If he's got himself in trouble just because he's too damn proud to deal with me after a stupid argument... _

Part of Sam's brain was telling him to kick Dean's ass for being so monumentally stupid and stubborn. But, fortunately for his brother, the larger part just wanted to get this mess over with quickly and tell Dean what he'd seen, share the burden of the vision that was still making him feel sick to his stomach.

Pulling together the presence of mind to grab a torch and a gun from the trunk of the car first, Sam headed quickly into the house. The wrecked furniture illuminated by the torch's beam and the complete lack of activity quickly led him to the conclusion that the purifying ritual was done, the poltergeist gone. _Thank Christ – or, you know, Dean – for that. _For a brief moment, Sam imagined Dean's reaction if he ever found out his brother had just unintentionally compared him to Christ, and quickly resolved never to mention it – ever. _He really doesn't need an even bigger ego than he already has..._

By the time Sam had slightly freaked himself out with the oddness of that little thought process, he'd already completed a quick sweep of the ground floor of the house. No Dean in any of the rooms. Still grateful for the lack of supernatural disturbance, he headed swiftly up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Reaching the top, he began to call out his brother's name, desperately listening for a reply, for some snarky comment about a sleeping beauty or the _please please please_ completely unwarranted concern that became clearer in his voice as he continued to be met by nothing but silence. The light of the torch revealed the upstairs landing to be even more of a wreck than downstairs, and Sam's breath caught in his throat as he noticed traces of red on the floor and glistening on the corners of some of the debris. Luckily, there didnt seem to be any consistent trail that would indicate a heavily bleeding injury, but for some reason that wasn't particularly reassuring.

Trying to ignore the anxiety steadily strengthening its hold on him, he turned to one of the doors leading off the landing and pushed it open, shining the beam inside.

xxxxxxxxxxXXXXXXXXXXXxxxxxxxxxx

Dean didn't see the door edging open, the beam of light finally lending some illumination to the room. All he saw, all he felt, was utter terror as the cloaked figure reached out, placing one hand on his cheek, the other on his chest. The hands were freezing, and as they touched him pain radiated from the contact points, causing violent tremors to wrack his body. He tried to scream, find some kind of release from the overwhelming horror of what was happening, but it was becoming a struggle even to breathe. His lungs felt constricted, like an icy hand was wrapped round them and squeezing hard. His throat and mouth were too dry, and all he could produce was a desperate, choking gasp, a feeble attempt to draw more air into his suffering lungs.

Sam felt a shiver of fear run down his spine as he saw the figure, cloaked in black, a black that seemed somehow even darker, definitely more threatening, than the shadows engulfing the rest of the room. But his focus went straight to Dean, held in the figure's grip. Sam saw his brother shaking violently, his face contorted against the pain, the strength in his legs giving way completely as he crumpled to his knees, the _spirit? demon? what does it matter?_ following his descent, its grip unyielding.

It took no more than the space of a heartbeat for insinct to take over. One instant, and Sam had taken it all in, the torch was carefully placed on the floor, the pistol trained on the thing that was attacking his brother. Something so far beyond concern, beyond anger, driving him as he heard Dean's weakening struggle for air.

"Get the _fuck _away from him!" Channelling so much rage into the order had the desired effect, the cloaked figure leaning back and turning to face Sam as he pulled the trigger. A tiny moment of twisted satisfaction gripped the hunter as the rock salt projectile exploded on impact with the thing's chest and it released an unearthly howl. It was definitely only a tiny moment, though, because underneath that deafening screech he heard a weak, agonized cry from Dean.

The rock salt wasn't quite as fatal as Sam had hoped it might be. The figure lunged towards the window, melting completely back into the darkness as it escaped the torch's beam. Under many circumstances, Sam would have tried to track where it went – at least which direction it took once out of the window. But right now, all he needed to know was that it was gone.

Within two seconds of the thing disappearing, Sam was at his brother's side. Dean was now lying on the floor, staring intently at the ceiling, taking in deep, shuddering breaths, re-filling his tortured lungs. Sam mentally sighed in relief that his brother was at least awake and gently laid a comforting hand on Dean's forearm. He prepared himself to ask the inevitable question, the one that always made him feel stupid. Not only because the answer was usually pretty damn obvious whenever it was necessary to ask, but also because more often than not Dean would shoot back a reply that completely avoided answering the question anyway, usually managing to point out Sam's stupidity in the process. But it still had to be asked.

"Dean, man, you ok?" He didn't care that his voice trembled slightly, not really feeling up to trying to hide his concern.

Dean finally allowed his gaze to lock with Sam's as he rasped out a reply. "I... I don't know. My chest – hurts..."

Sam registered the rips in Dean's dark-coloured jacket and shirt, saw drops of blood on the floor. Realized that he really couldn't judge the extent of any injuries like this. "Oh crap... Dean, I'm gonna have to rip the shirt, ok? Check out how bad it is."

Dean nodded slightly and Sam grabbed the neckline of his shirt and ripped carefully downwards. After a quick examination, Sam sat back, basking in the relief for just a moment. It was obvious that Dean hadn't sustained any significant injuries from flying furniture – hadn't even winced when Sam had applied gentle pressure to his ribcage. So, a few bruises in the morning, but no serious problems. Dean's breathing had settled down as well. There was only one injury that seemed worth mentioning, the one that seemed to be causing Dean's discomfort.

"Erm... Dean... looks like it scratched you." The five shallow marks had already stopped bleeding, just looked like they must have stung like a bitch.

"What?" came the incredulous reply from his now much calmer, more lucid brother. "You ripped my shirt and it's just a scratch? You've got to be kidding me, Sammy!"

"Hey – not tonight. You officially lose the right to call me that when I save your sorry ass. Besides, I'm not the one who looks like they just lost a fight to a chick with a vicious manicure." Sam smirked at the resentful grunt that came from his brother at that one, glad that Dean was seeming much calmer and more responsive than he had been a few moments ago.

"What the fuck was that anyway?" Sam asked, checking the room over while reaching for the dropped shotgun. "'Cause I don't think its gone from the house."

As if to support his words, a shuddering groan came from what sounded like the next room.

"I have NO clue. Julia's out of the house, so I'm all for getting out while the getting's good. We need bigger guns or something. At least let's hit the books, find out what it is." Dean scrambled to his feet.

"What was it doing to you?" puffed Sam as they ran down the stairs. Dean was silent until they slammed shut the doors of the Impala, in unison as always.

"Long story." Sam saw the automatic closed-off expression cloud his brother's face and let the subject drop._ For now._

xxxxxxxxxxXXXXXXXXXXXxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: There you go! Term's over now so next update will be loads quicker - I promise :)

Thanks again to ohmygodnotthecar for wonderful beta work xx


End file.
